Tamrin’s prized pumpkin was missing.
Well, her second prized pumpkin. Her best one had vanished two weeks ago on the evening of Prince Charlin’s first ball. Then her second best one vanished the night of Charlin’s second dance. Months of hard work, love, and care down the drain.
It wouldn’t happen again. Tonight
The crier held out the letter Clip had waited two years for. An orange bow wrapped around the envelope’s crinkled and weathered form.
The mass of townspeople bustled around her. No one stopped to ask about the soldier who had just been announced dead. No one spared a glance.
“Do you ever pay attention?”
There’s a hunter in the jungle this morning. I know by the muddy paw prints, the cracked bamboo, the deep silence. No deer forage in the leaf litter, and monkeys huddle together in the trees.
Leaning against a trunk, I draw in a deep breath. My bones ache to shift,
Splashing and laughter drifted to Veya from the hot springs. She peeked over the clump of sunbaked rocks to where her sister Vasilisa treaded water with her two attendants, chatting about the Fox Clan’s latest marriages and births.
Two of the things denied to Veya because she was Peltless.
Vasilisa glanced up.
“Dude, I am beginning to rethink this idea.” Tyrone shifted uneasily from one foot to the other as he stared at the fence towering above them. “These signs look serious.” He pointed his flashlight to a neon orange “Keep Out” sign that was practically screaming at them.
“Now you notice?” Grant rolled hi
Once again, Diah was breaking into her own palace. She huffed, edging along the shadowed side of her castle. How many times had she done this? Seven? Ten? She was losing count.
She paused and ran her hands along the cold stone wall until she found the deep grooves that had been cut precisely
“Did you just ask me to cut off your head?” Arden stared through the iron bars at the tiger.
“I did.” The cat calmly laid her head on her paws.
“You must be mad!”
“Perhaps.” Her lips curled back in a grin like some overgrown Cheshire Cat.
He shivered. He hoped the dormice
“Coppelia Potts, Nightmare Hunter.” Coppelia extended her business card, which proudly proclaimed her name and profession. “You called about a little… pumpkin infestation?”
The farmer’s daughter examined the card and nodded.
“I’m Abby. Where’s your brother? Shouldn’t he be here?”
“Wolfgang’s sick, so I’m going solo today.” Coppelia pulled her bright orange hair
We stole his nose at midnight.
Amidst a sea of snowy mountain pinewood, my cousin Cory and I waded into a clearing where we discovered a man of winter standing upright like a statue. We crept toward the plump figure with caution, hunting rifles ready. Nothing stirred, not even the wind.
My stomach
“Well, Gram, here’s to you.”
Kevin popped the cap off a bottle of beer and tilted the first sip of pleasantly bitter brew onto his tongue. Gram had never cared for alcohol much. That was probably Gramp’s fault—too many bad memories—but Kevin’s after-dinner beer tended to accompany reflection.
And tonight was
“Could you maybe… not do that?” I pleaded with the fairy as she zipped around the elephant pen.
I’m just an intern at Safari-Land Sanctuary and Tours, and arguing with pixies isn’t on my list of daily tasks—especially not when an important client is scheduled for a tour. I was finishing the
Twenty-four hours to weave garments fit for a queen. Arachne’s hands shook as a guard shoved her into the small weaving room and slammed the door shut behind her. She looked up at the massive heap of purple chaff just ahead, covering the shadowed floor in front of her.
This is what I get.
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